His Favourite Type of Weather
by TheChasm
Summary: "You're not coping. You say you are but you're not." Ginny spends most of her time with George, which is understandable, of course - he needs her. But he'll always be her big brother, and big brothers are good at giving advice. Even when they're broken.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**A/N: More Weasleys! I'm on something of a roll here, aren't I? I love George and Ginny's relationship, and I do hope I did it justice. I hope you enjoy it!**

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**His Favourite Type of Weather**

Ginny, George had decided, was an odd girl. She was fierce and harsh at times, yet also as gentle as could be when the situation called for it; as brave as any Gryffindor yet seemingly terrified of putting a foot outside the house; and, although she was a social butterfly, she appeared to enjoy spending most of her time in this room where the air was thick with too many memories.

George lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. The curtains were pulled back and sunlight was pouring in, but for some reason the room still seemed cold and dark. He was trying his best to look anywhere but the bed beside his, while Ginny, being Ginny, was sitting on it.

It was now two months after the end of the war, and the wizarding world was still struggling to rebuild itself. The Ministry had taken to asking for volunteers, and Ginny, unwilling to leave her family but desperate to do something to help, had been landed with paperwork. She never complained about it, although George knew how dull she must find it. She would bring it up to his bedroom and curl up on Fred's bed, chattering away to him as she sorted through files.

They both knew that George was paying no attention to her words, but the sound of his sister's voice soothed him. This was the way _he_ passed his time: lying on his bed for most of the day, coming out only for mealtimes, and concentrating on keeping his heart frozen.

"Angelina stopped by yesterday," Ginny said, switching topic mid-sentence.

"She did?" George asked. He had the vague feeling that this piece of news was supposed to provoke some sort of reaction in him, but he had had a bad night and emotions were something he really couldn't be bothered with right now.

Ginny nodded. "She was asking about you. Last time she saw you was at the funeral."

"And?"

"She's worried about you," Ginny said in a low voice. Even quieter, she added, "We all are."

"Why?" George asked. His ability to speak in more than two words at a time seemed to have deserted him.

Ginny sighed. "You're not coping, George. You say you are but you're _not._"

"Do you expect me to?" he asked her quietly, and she didn't seem to have an answer for that.

George sat up and turned to look out of the window. The sky was a clear blue today, the rolling green hills almost insultingly bright. Fred's favourite type of weather.

"You never talk about Harry anymore," he said, in an attempt to change the subject.

To his surprise, it worked. Ginny stiffened and glanced down at the quill she had clenched in her hands. "Do I not?"

"No," George said, grateful to be able to talk about someone else's problems for a change. "The first couple of weeks after, you seemed so excited. You said you couldn't wait to start a relationship again, that as soon as he had finished with all his what-you-do-after-you've-saved-the-world things he would have time for you again. Then… after that, it just all dried up. I'm surprised I didn't notice earlier."

"I didn't expect you to," Ginny said. "And – well, I've been so busy with everything, it's more like I don't have time for him right now. 'Sides, I need some space." She wrapped her arms around herself.

"It's my twin I've lost, Ginny, not my brain. What the hell has happened between you two?"

Ginny glanced at him. "You really aren't going to let go of this, are you?" There was something in her tone that reminded him of the way she would act when she had found the two of them planning a prank on Percy or their mother, the amused disapproval when she thought they were being unfair; and just for that moment, George felt a small crack in his frozen heart which mirrored the knife-stabbing pain of seeing his twin lying dead on the floor of the Great Hall, because he missed Fred _so much._ He shook his head.

After a moment longer of staring at him, Ginny looked down at her papers again and began to explain. "Well… I guess it is partly what I told you. I _do_ need some space. I like coming up here, because it's quiet and peaceful and when you're upset… there's something I can do about it. I can cheer you up, even if it's only for a moment. I can bring my paperwork up here, and it feels like I'm fixing something. It feels like there's something I can do. Maybe putting a society back together is hard but at least it's _possible,_ and raising the dead isn't."

She paused for a moment, an odd smile twisting her mouth. It was sad, world-weary and far too old, and George felt a little stab of regret because he should have protected his baby sister from ever having an expression like that on her face.

"So I told Harry that I wasn't ready to start anything yet," Ginny continued, "and he understood. He looked unhappy about it, though, and I guess that's when things started getting more complicated. He looked like he was lonely, like he had missed me, like his life had been _so hard_ without me there. And I just started to get angry, because whatever he went through was tame compared to what it was like at Hogwarts this year – what it's like for us right now. And I thought – well, I've just waited and waited and waited for him, now he can wait for me. I waited for him to notice my existence. I waited for him to see me as more than Ron's little sister. I waited for him to love me, and then he left and I waited and waited for him to come back and I'm sick and tired of being so patient!"

Her voice had risen slightly; clearly with some effort, she lowered it again. George folded his arms, watched her and waited.

"So it's partly that I need some space, and it's partly some twisted sort of revenge – I know I'm not being fair on him, but right now I don't really care. And then I remembered that time in the Room of Requirement… just before I said goodbye." She closed her eyes for a fleeting second, but George could still see the single tear dampening her lashes. Ginny took a deep breath, wiped it furiously away and carried on. "I remembered how I wanted to fight, so much, and Mum wouldn't let me and you and Fred tried to persuade her, but she wouldn't listen, and I turned to Harry and he just shook his head. George, if I had stayed in there, if I hadn't been let out when Harry needed to use the Room – if I had just been waiting for them to come and tell me that my _brother_ was _dead_ – I don't think I would have been able to live with myself. I'm so glad I fought."

She scrubbed at her eyes again, but when she continued her voice was still quite steady. "But Harry didn't want to let me out. He wanted to protect me. He does it again and again – I can't be his girlfriend because he's the stupid Boy Who Was Chosen or whatever it is, I can't fight when everyone I care about is there – and when I told him about it, he said that he was _angry_ with me for _fighting,_ that I should have stayed there! He doesn't see me as an equal, just some stupid little girl whom he needs to protect and I can't take everyone acting like I'm a child when I'm very clearly _not!_"

"So you're avoiding him because he wants to protect you?" George asked quietly. There was something strange stirring in his blood. Something angry. It was an unfamiliar feeling; he didn't think he could remember being angry at Ginny before.

She scowled. "Yes. I'm his equal, and he needs to learn that."

"But it's nothing to do with equality," George said, still trying hard to keep his voice level.

"Of course it is!" Ginny cried, suddenly jumping to her feet. "Are you saying you agree with him? That you think I'm just a child?"

"I'm saying that that's completely irrelevant!" George shouted back, his own Weasley temper flaring up. "I'm saying that some people are overprotective, and that's okay because it's just part of who they are! And all of them need to find someone to take care of, and if that's you, you should just go with it! And you _let_ them protect you, because if it makes them happy then who are you to complain?" The anger, he thought detachedly, felt good. It swept along his veins, melted the ice around his heart and carried it away. With it came the pain that the ice had been guarding against, but being able to _feel_ again made up for that.

Ginny had her mouth open, ready to argue some more, but George spoke over her. He didn't think she was getting what he was saying yet. "Maybe they are overprotective, and maybe that's irritating, but you can learn to live with it. They want to know that you're safe and that you're happy and it's a small sacrifice for you to tell them that – because what if they leave you, suddenly, and they never knew what had happened to you? And – and the thing is – when it really mattered, even though he always looked out for me, _I couldn't protect him._"

Ginny stirred, her mouth a round 'o' of surprise. George turned to look out of the window again. "And I used to hate it, the way he was constantly worrying about me," he continued, softly now. "Until I lost my ear, it was always so irritating. Then, after the injury, I saw that maybe he had a point. He was terrified, you know – I think seeing me bleeding really did something to him. He panicked if he didn't know where I was every second of the day, and I went along with it because seeing him scared was not something I wanted to go through again. And now – I'd do _anything_ to have him back and worrying over me for just one more day."

In one swift moment Ginny was beside him; she wrapped her arms around him and drew him close. "It wasn't your fault," she whispered.

"It was, it was," George said brokenly. Everything he had bottled up seemed to be coming loose – he was surprised to find that he was shivering. "I was his twin, I should have known, I should have saved him – only when we're separated –" He reached up to touch the hole where his ear should have been. His breath was coming in shuddering gasps; he buried his head in Ginny's shoulder and tried to pretend that it was Fred's arms around him, Fred's warmth he was leaning into. But Ginny was not Fred, and after everything she had done for him it was not fair to hate her for that. He reached up and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Listen to me, Ginny. Go and find him. Talk to him. Don't push him away. You can tell him why you're angry with him, and he'll listen, but don't hate him for wanting you to be safe."

"I want to hide up here," Ginny whispered, shifting so that her own face was buried in his shoulder now. "I just wish it would all go away."

"I want him back," George mumbled. His eyes stung with tears, now; tears that before he had only allowed to fall in the privacy of night-time. "I miss him."

"So do I," Ginny murmured. She raised her head; brown eyes met brown. "More than anything else in the world."

"He'd be proud of you," George told her, trying desperately to wipe some of the hopelessness from her eyes. "His brave little sister."

Ginny gave an odd, sobbing laugh and rested her head back on George's shoulder. He rocked her gently until her breathing became steady again; the two of them stared out of the window at the palette of blue, green and gold. It was Fred's favourite type of weather.

They were both irreparably wounded, but they had each other. And just for that moment that was enough.

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**A/N: I'm a little unsure about the ending, but I hope you enjoyed the piece regardless! Please tell me in a review!**

**~Butterfly**


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